Teenagers
by Simon920
Summary: Dick Grayson is acting like a teenager. Yikes. Warning: strong language.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Teenagers

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick/Bruce/Alfred…the usual

Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: Dick is being a teenager. Yikes.

Warnings: language

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Unbetaed, blame me.

**Teenagers…**

**Part One**

"Master Dick? Please make yourself presentable. Dinner is ready."

The CD player was on in the study and there was a schoolbook opened on the desk in obvious mid assignment, but the room was deserted. A quick glance showed the bathroom door opened and the room not in use.

"Master Dick?" No answer. Bother. That youngster could disappear in the bat of an eye. Well, there was nothing for it. Dinner was ready and there was some sort of school function this evening so the meal couldn't be put off.

The boy could be exasperating when he chose.

Alfred finally found him after a search. He had made his way through all the usual places one would normally find the young man—the pool, the gym, his room, the entertainment room, the kitchen and the garage. None of them had yielded results, so with some reluctance, he had put on his heavy black overcoat and started through the closer gardens, carrying Dick's ski jacket just in case.

The young man had been, well, brooding was the word that came to mind quite a lot lately and while it could have been simple teenaged melodramatics it seemed to have now gone beyond that into melancholy and Alfred was starting to become concerned. He hadn't said anything to the master, not yet, but if this continued he would have to.

This wasn't like the boy, not really. Normally he was such a joy to have around the cold and too big house—laughing, joking, playing music too loud and with the phone ringing for him far too often. He was usually so happy, so upbeat that when he was sometimes overcome with what Alfred had come to think of as his 'black moods', it was something of a jolt and reason enough to watch the lad. Come to think of it, they seemed to be coming more frequently lately and would likely bear closer watching should they not resolve themselves. Perhaps they might want to consult a professional should they continue. Leslie would likely have some thoughts on it.

He would have to speak to the master about it when he returned from London.

There had been an argument that morning at the breakfast table, something about Dick breaking curfew and not letting Bruce know where he'd been til almost two in the morning on a school night. Instead of answering or even arguing back, Dick had simply shut down and gone quiet. Alfred knew the pattern. Bruce had left for Europe and Dick hadn't said a word since, not even on the rides to and from school.

If this ran true to form, the mood would likely deepen for a few days; hit a low then, with no apparent rhyme nor reason, would just as suddenly lift. It had been happening since Dick had first come to them eight years ago. It would happen perhaps once a year around the anniversary of his parent's murders, then would be gone until next time. Though recently Alfred had noticed the moods coming perhaps every other month or so.

He passed through the rose garden to the perennial garden, finding no one.

It wasn't as though the boy had no reason to be depressed now and then. In fact he had more cause than most and it often amazed the older man just how well adjusted Dick actually was after all he'd been through. There had been so much sadness in his life; the deaths of his parents was the major trauma, of course, but there had been so many others as well.

He started down the path to the river. Sometimes Dick liked to walk along the water.

From what Alfred had gathered, the Grayson's, while a close and loving family, had little in the way of material comforts and when the boy had come to them his possessions had consisted of several pairs of well worn jeans, a half dozen or so tee shirts and sweat shirts and a pair of worn sneakers along with a clip on tie accompanied by a button down dress shirt. The cuffs of the shirt were high water on the boy's thin arms. There had been a couple of well-thumbed books, including his mother's bible and little else. His parent's plain wedding bands were being held in the master's safe for possible later use if Dick wanted them. There hadn't been much. A smallish bank account was turned over to Bruce's financial advisors for investment, but though growing, still wasn't very large.

From odd comments over the years, Alfred knew that sometimes the local kids in the towns they passed through had been cruel to the circus children but the performers had banded together and dealt with it, protecting the youngsters and forging strong bonds between them.

Living with the circus, the family had been part of a nomadic small town from which the boy had also been forced away with his parent's deaths, adding to the trauma. It was something he almost never spoke about. He had wanted to stay with the circus and there were several families there who had wanted to take him in, but the state had insisted that he be turned over to the authorities and by the time it could be straightened out, the show had moved on to another state and it had become impossibly complicated.

He had gone back for a visit when the circus had been back in the area a year or so after he'd come to live at the manor but it hadn't gone well. Dick, though warmly welcomed was no longer part of the day-to-day life they lived and he felt like an outsider. The visit hadn't been repeated.

Likewise he never talked about his extended family; cousins, grandparents and the like. Bruce had located as many relatives as he could, but none had made an effort to attend the funerals and no one had expressed a willingness to give the orphan a home. The reasons had ranged from their having no room, to not being able to feed another mouth to being too old or too busy with careers.

Several of the boy's relatives had asked when the will would be read, though.

Even Bruce had shaken his head at the way the boy was abandoned. That had been eight years ago and Dick had virtually no contact with his family for at least five of those years.

That the boy could usually be so upbeat was a miracle.

There, on a stone bench overlooking the river, was where he found him.

"Master Richard, it's far too cold to be sitting here with no jacket and you're chilled through. You're past age to know such things. Return to the house at once, please."

The blackness was plain to see, the sadness was obvious.

"It was warm enough when the sun was out." The sky was clouding, there was a forecast of late season snow.

Putting the jacket over the boy's shoulders, Alfred sat beside him. "What is it that's troubling you?" The question was gently asked.

Alfred didn't think that the boy would answer, but finally, "Last month on my birthday, Donna told me she hoped I got what I wanted. I don't remember what I told her but I've been thinking about it ever since."

"What you wanted for your birthday?" That hardly seemed likely.

"Fuck the birthday." It wasn't like him to use language like that unless he was upset and Alfred restrained himself from clucking his disapproval "I've been thinking about what it is that I want—you know, in my life."

Of course. "And what would you like?"

The question made Dick turn his head to look at the older man. The debate inside his mind was written on his face—whether or not to tell Alfred what was really upsetting him. After a space of long seconds he made up his mind, shrugged and gave a half smile. "Nothing important, just the usual: True love, great job, fame and fortune. Come on, is dinner ready? I'm starving." End of discussion, he refused to be drawn out about what he had been thinking. Alfred knew it would be useless to pursue the subject until the boy was ready to unburden himself. There was nothing for it but to wait him out and hope the day would come—or that this was simply a phase he'd grow beyond sooner rather than later.

That was that, at least for now. They stood and went back to the house and the warmth. The snow was just starting as they walked up the path. Nothing more was said and Dick made a concerted effort to behave as though nothing of importance was on his mind, joking his way through dinner.

A week later Alfred was straightening up the main living room when he found Dick, again, sitting alone on the window seat of the large bay window and in another bout of depression. Bruce had returned from his business trip two days before and he and Dick had immediately been at loggerheads about every word and gesture. The dinner table had been thick with tension since.

Something had to give, neither man was willing to put up with these teenaged moods forever. Though hey were certainly a time honored tradition, enough was quickly becoming enough.

"Might I lend an ear?"

"I'm fine."

"Evidence to the contrary. Perhaps I might be of some help. Are you in some sort of trouble?"

He shrugged. It really was an appalling habit.

"Obviously something is bothering you. Sometimes an impartial sounding board is just what's needed."

Dick seemed to weigh whether or not to confide or not. "It sounds so lame."

"Evidently it's enough to upset you."

Unwilling to meet the older man's eyes, he looked out the window to the rolling lawns. "I wish I knew what's wrong with me." It was said so softly Alfred could barely hear him.

"In what sense?"

"It sounds so stupid, like a dumbass kid, but I wish I knew why no one wants me. What's wrong with me?"

Alfred thought he was prepared for almost anything Dick might have come up with to be upset about, from failing a class to a pregnant girlfriend, but he'd never thought of this. Certainly Master Bruce never had these thoughts when he was this age, thank God. He'd had other problems. Lord knew, but not this sort of thing.

He sat next to the youngster. "Come now, you know how wanted you are in this home, how large a difference you've made in our lives here. You're wanted and loved very much."

Dick shrugged again. He really must stop that habit. Alfred tried once more.

"Has something happened?"

"It wasn't anything. I asked a girl at school to the movies and she turned me down. It doesn't matter."

"Perhaps the young lady will reconsider."

Dick turned and gave him an assessing look, making a decision. "It's not important but it got me thinking about all the people in my life who threw me out or wouldn't let me in or got tired of me. I realized that there's a pattern to it and I can't figure out why."

"Surely you don't believe…my goodness, you've more friends and are more highly thought of than just about anyone I know."

"When my parents died the circus people said they wanted me to stay there, that I was one of them, but they let me be taken by Child Services and never bothered to even check back on me. I wrote some of them, but I never got any answers, either."

"That was a confusing time for everyone, Master Dick, you know that. There was so much upset and the police were involved and…"

"They never even called to find out where I ended up. I checked. No one cared or maybe they were just too busy. And no one in my family would take me in, either. I mean, shit—I was this eight year old kid who'd just been orphaned and none of them would even let me stay with them until I had a decent permanent home."

Well, the boy had him there. That was true, however, "They asked about you, a number of your relatives did, you know that. They still send you things on your birthday and for Christmas. They do try to keep track of you."

Dick gave him a withering look. They both knew it was bullshit.

"And you have a number of friends who care very much about you. You know that to be true. Goodness, the Titans hold you in tremendously high regard…"

"Who? Roy? He's not speaking to me because I signed him into rehab. He's still pissed about that."

"You helped him, you likely saved his life. One day he'll understand that."

"When Ollie found out he cut Roy off. Roy blames me for that and he's right. I'm the one who let Ollie know."

"Surely you…"

"And Wally? He's busy. He never has time…Garth and Donna, are the same way. They're all busy."

"Now really. You know you have any number of friends at school."

Dick laughed. It wasn't pleasant. "You want to know what they think of me at school? They think Bruce took me in because he likes little boys. You know that, Alf. You've heard that one before. It's practically gospel now." He shifted his position on the soft cushion. "I get lots of offers in the locker room. Maybe I should start accepting some of them. And the only people who give me the time of day are the ones who want something—anything from money to a swim in the pool. No one wants to just be friends, they all have some agenda. The ones who don't want something or think I'm Bruce's entertainment just think I'm a boring grind."

Alfred had no idea that Dick felt this way, exaggerating and being overly dramatic, though he was.

"Master Bruce loves you as though you were his own son with nothing untoward in his feelings for you. Surely you've never had reason to doubt that."

"Bruce felt sorry for me." Period. "Besides, I reminded him of himself. It's just his ego that's trying to fix me since he's so screwed up by what happened to him—same story, different characters. He's hoping for a different ending."

The boy likely had some truth there, however, "He loves you for yourself, Master Dick. You know how genuinely fond of you he is. You've made all the difference in his life—as well as in my own."

The shrug again this time accompanied by a sidelong look at Alfred. For a moment he thought the boy would say something more, but he remained silent. Another nerve had been hit.

"Mast…Dick" Alfred dropped the formality as much as he could, "you know that I think of you as a grandson. I couldn't be more fond of you if you were blood."

"Maybe now, maybe, but you didn't want me, either. I heard you talking to Bruce the first few months I was here. You made it pretty clear that you had no interest in being a babysitter so I tried to stay out of your way."

If Dick had slapped him across the face he couldn't have been more shocked. It was true that in the beginning he'd had reservations about bringing a traumatized child into the house, but within a week or two Alfred had seen how extraordinary Dick was, how intelligent and gifted. The change in the old house was almost immediate—lightness where there had been shadows, laughter where they had gotten used to silence. He had come to love the boy deeply and he believed that the feelings were returned and he told the boy this as they sat there, Dick's face turned towards the floor, unwilling to accept what he was being told..

"You told me that there was something you wanted for your birthday. Would you tell me what it was?"

He was sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees, tied up in a small ball. "I wish that there was someone who liked me for myself. I mean someone who doesn't want something from me or who wants me to be something I'm not. I wish there was someone who thought I was all right just the way I am."

Dear Lord. It was a time-honored plea for a teenager, to be sure, but this was taken beyond the usual search for a young man's sense of identity and perhaps with cause, given his background. "How long have you felt this way?"

Yet another shrug. "Since I got here."

Alfred had no answer beyond clichés for that. Had they made such a botch of it? Had they really missed all signs of the boy's feelings? It was true that from the beginning Dick had been tremendously self sufficient, rarely asking for anything, doing his own laundry, cleaning his own room, never needing to be reminded of the usual childhood things like brushing his teeth or bathing. He had always assumed that was how the boy had been raised, to be independent. Was it really so that Alfred wouldn't feel put upon by the lad?

Did he honestly believe that Bruce had kept him here just out of a sense of obligation or pity?

Dear God, had he endured his schoolmates taunts and insults in silence all this time and they'd had no idea of what he was going through?

"Dick, I…surely your friends, Donna and Roy and the others, surely you know that they accept you, good and bad?"

"They listen to me because I'm the leader, but they don't like me. I mean we go to movies and for pizza and stuff but I don't know. They're different when I'm around. They sort of watch what they saw because they think I might talk to their guardians or their parents if they screw up or get drunk or something. The thing with Roy just reinforced that." A pause of maybe two breathes. "Except Garth. He's not like the others. He just does his thing, we talk sometimes. He's okay."

"You two talk to one another?"

He nodded. "Garth and I tell each other stuff that it's, you know, the stuff that's hard to talk about."

This was news but at least there was someone he was comfortable with.

"You do realize that your life has hardly been what one would call an average one, now, has it? Certainly being raised for so long in a traveling show, then losing your parents, coming here combined with your—extracurricular activities with Bruce, surely you understand that these things do set you apart from your peers."

"Yeah, I know." He seemed to gather himself a bit, stretching his legs out in front of him and flexing his arms. Perhaps he was just tired of talking about it. With luck his mood might be lifting for a while. "I'm being a pain in the ass, aren't I, Alf? Let's just drop it, okay?" He stood up "I've got some research to do for school. I'll be back later, maybe around eight?"

"I'll keep your dinner for you, then, Master Dick." The balance was restored for now.

"No, it's all right. I'm going to the library. I'll get something to eat in town." And he was gone. Alfred heard the front door open and close and a minute later heard the roar of one of the motorcycles. Bruce would be angry. Dick was underage and unlicensed.

Nor was he headed to the library, unless Alfred missed his guess. Though he didn't want to think it possible, he wondered if Dick was going in search of something to brighten his mood a bit and drugs were common enough in the area—a lot of money available to a lot of bored youngsters was always fertile ground. And the young master had been under some strain lately, more than usual. It was possible that he might turn to…no. He wouldn't. He was too sensible, too intelligent. He'd seen the consequences of drug use with his friends. He wouldn't…

They weren't out of the woods quite yet. Perhaps Dick had simply decided on some form of pain management, which didn't include an old man or his guardian. With luck, he'd do himself no harm. Perhaps he was just joy riding, burning off stress and tension that way.

Of course, that must be it.

Going down to the cave Alfred turned on the tracking devices installed on all of the master's vehicles. One blip showed up in Gotham, still parked at the headquarters of Wayne Corp. The other blip was moving north toward New York.

What was Dick going there for? The Titans? Possibly.

Keeping an eye on the sensor, Alfred saw that the motorcycle kept moving, making what was basically a large loop through the surrounding extended area and finally returned to the Manor around eleven that night. Dick came in through the garage entrance and went straight up to his room, closing the door. There was no way to prevent the Master from finding out. Robin stayed home that night and the Bat flew alone.

When Alfred checked a few minutes later, the light was off and Dick was already in bed, feigning sleep.

The next morning the young master went directly to school without bothering to stop for either breakfast or conversation, taking his moped—a vehicle he could legally drive. This would all be addressed when the young man got home, and make no mistake about it. This wasn't the sort of thing that could be tolerated.

About ten-thirty in the morning, with Master Bruce at Wayne Corp headquarters, Alfred received a call from the vice principal of the high school.

"Is Mr. Wayne there, please?"

"Mr. Wayne is at work, sir, may I take a message?"

"Is Mr. Pennyworth available, then?

"This is he, how may I help you?"

"Mr. Pennyworth, you're listed as the emergency contact for Richard Grayson, could I ask you to come to the school, please?"

"Has the young master been injured? Is there some sort of problem?" Oh dear.

"He's fine, but he's sitting here in my office and it seems he had an argument with one of his teachers this morning, resulting in her ending up in tears."

"Master Richard? That hardly sounds like him, I'll be there as soon as possible."

When he walked into the school office, Alfred saw Dick sitting on the bench. His face was completely neutral and he'd been waiting for the butler to arrive, standing when he saw the older man. "Wilkins is waiting for you. He's in his office." Dick indicated a closed door across the room. The secretary smiled at Alfred, nodded and knocked on the door, opening it.

"Mr. Pennyworth is here, Mr. Wilkins. Dick? You, too."

The two of them went in, sitting down in the two empty chairs. There was a middle-aged woman there as well. The vice principal spoke first.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Pennyworth. This is Mrs. Sullivan, Dick's guidance counselor. Betsy? Would you like to start?"

"Mr. Pennyworth, first of all, Dick is a fine young man. He's intelligent, his grades are generally excellent and he's one of his class leaders; that's why we're concerned about him right now. This morning there was an argument in his History class that evidently escalated and, from what I've been told, became rather heated. Dick made some comments to his teacher, which were out of character for him—they were vulgar and extremely offensive. And she ended up leaving the room in tears."

Alfred looked at Dick. That wasn't like him at all, he was almost always polite. "Could you give your side of this, please?"

Dick had been listening without expression, his attention directly on the woman, almost as if he were studying her.

"That's not what happened. She—the teacher, Ms Adams, started going on about the Holocaust, saying how the Jews suffered—they did, obviously. I know that. I just said that they weren't the only ones who were victimized and facing genocide and she told me that the other groups weren't as statistically important."

Wilkins interrupted. "I'm sure she didn't say that, Dick."

"She based her rationale on the numbers of people killed, and yes, as a matter of fact she did."

"From what she told me, you became angry and said some things that were inappropriate, though, Dick."

"I told her that there were other groups, including the Gypsies who were also systematically murdered and she said that, relatively speaking, they were minor."

"Well, if she was basing her comments on sheer numbers of victims, I'm afraid that she did have a point and…"

Dick interrupted quietly but forcefully. It was the voice he used when he was leading the Titans. "Most of my family was killed in the camps because they were Gypsies. Ms Adams made statements that not only were inaccurate but were stupid and insensitive to members of the other groups who were murdered. I took offense to it, and to her."

Wilkins wasn't about to let him get away with mouthing off to a teacher, no matter how provoked he might have been. "Be that as it may, you used language to her that is inappropriate under any circumstances and you'll need to apologize to her for that before you're allowed to go back to class."

"I'll apologize if she will."

Alfred spoke up. "Mr. Wilkins, might I inquire as to what he said to the woman?"

The principal looked at Dick. "Would you care to tell him yourself?"

Dick stared the man down. "I told her that she was an insensitive cunt."

For perhaps the only time since he'd known the man, Dick saw Alfred lose his cool, flushed with anger. "Master Richard! Good Lord—I've never heard such language from you and I hope to never hear it again. Am I making myself clear? There is no excuse for such vulgarities. None. Two wrongs don't make a right, you know that quite well. If you've said such things to your teacher I expect that you will be the one to offer an olive branch."

"I'll apologize if she will."

The principal spoke directly to Dick. "You're a student here and there are standards you will adhere to, including those of common courtesy. I must ask for an apology from you to Ms. Adams this afternoon. Do you understand me, young man?"

"And she'll apologize to me as well?"

"You were the one who was out of line here and I'm not about to negotiate with you."

"Then, no." Dick's voice was quiet but firm.

"If you refuse you'll be suspended."

"Fine."

It was a standoff and Alfred knew Dick well enough to realize he wouldn't back down when he was this angry. If it meant he'd end up in a different school, then that was what it would mean. "If I might make a suggestion, sir. Perhaps we could have the young man remove himself from the situation for a few days, have him think about what has happened until Monday morning. I'm sure that with the passage of time and the chance to think things through, we'll be able to reach an acceptable resolution."

Wilkins seemed glad for the possibility of a compromise; he didn't want to offend Bruce Wayne—the man had paid for the new science classrooms last year. "Dick, does that sound reasonable to you? Think about it for a few days and then see how you feel?"

"I'm not going to change my mind, but if Ms Adams decides she was wrong, I'll be happy to listen to what she has to say."

Great. He'd dung in his heels, but at least it would still give them all some breathing room. "All right. You're suspended until Monday. Please get your books out of your locker if you want to study, but you know that you'll receive a failing grade for any missed work, which you will not be allowed to make up. That's standard school policy."

Dick stood up, every line his body registering a cross between fury and stubbornness. "Fine"

Alfred went with Dick as he got his jacket and a couple of books, then walked the boy out to the car. The older man said nothing, though Dick did catch a couple of irritated and probably frustrated shakes of his head on the drive back to the manor. Alfred finally spoke as they pulled up to the house.

"Master Bruce will have to be informed of this, you realize."

"I know."

That was all he said before he got out of the car, closed his door and went up to his room. Dick declined dinner.

Around eight-thirty Bruce knocked, letting himself in when he heard Dick's voice. He found the boy lying on his bed, reading Hamlet and making notes.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

"I assume Alfred already has."

Bruce sat in the desk chair about six feet from the bed. "I'd like to hear it from you." It was obviously not a request.

He gave Bruce a long look; it was clear he'd rather eat glass. "I took offense to something a teacher said in class and it got a little heated. That's all."

"Except that Alfred was called into the school and you're suspended through Monday. That seems more than a disagreement to me."

Dick gave him a bored look. "It wasn't that big a deal. It's not going to hurt my grades or anything. It's…whatever." He really didn't want to talk about this.

Bruce wasn't about to let it go this easily. "I understand that if you don't apologize to your teacher, you may be expelled. Is that right?"

Dick just shrugged. Yes, it was true. "It's not the only school around."

"No, but that's hardly the point, is it?" Clearly this was getting them nowhere other than circles and the episode this afternoon wasn't the real problem, anyway. He tried to soften his approach. "I'd like to know what's really bothering you, Dick. Something has been on your mind for months now and both Alfred and I are concerned about you."

Dick lowered his eyes, not meeting Bruce's and not saying anything, either

"I know that you're under a lot of pressure between school and being Robin—you work with me and lead the Titans, that's like working three jobs at once and you're still sixteen years old. I doubt if I could do what you are when I was your age. Maybe it's too much…"

"No." It was said quickly, as though he was afraid of what the next sentence out of Bruce's mouth would be. "It isn't, I can handle it."

Bruce gave him what Dick had mentally nicknamed his 'appraising look' for a full minute before he spoke, abruptly changing the subject. "I think it might be a good idea to take off the end of next week. You have mid winter break coming up anyway—what do you say about going to the place in Aspen? You know how much you love to ski."

Dick looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

"We've both been so busy we haven't really spent any time together when we weren't working in months—this seems like a good time for that."

Dick's expression changed subtly to where it was apparent that he was now completely sure Bruce had taken leave of his senses. "Yeah, sure. That would be great." It was said in a guarded monotone, Dick's attention already back on Shakespeare—or so it appeared. Knowing when he was beaten, or at least temporarily stymied, Bruce got up and left. Down in the kitchen, Alfred looked a question at him to which he just shook his head and asked that arrangements be made to prepare the ski condo for next week.

TBC

6/30/05

14


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Teenagers Part Two

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick, Bruce, Alfred, OC

Rating: PG 13

Summary: Dick and the family chills out a bit on a ski trip

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes 

Unbetaed. It's a holiday weekend, I didn't want to bother anyone so blame me for mistakes.

**Teenagers…**

**Part Two**

After they decided and agreed to spend the February break skiing, Dick asked and received permission to invite his cousin, Peter along. A phone call, a little coaxing and Dick had a playmate for the slopes. Peter, the same age as Dick, was the oldest of three cousins Dick had discovered last year when his maternal grandfather unexpectedly made contact after years of silence. Though that part of the reunion had ended badly, Dick was grateful for his cousins and they were in frequent contact. Peter, in particular, had become a close friend and they spent as much time as they reasonably could together, talking on the phone or e-mailing when they couldn't actually get together. Though there were still things Dick knew he had to keep secret—like the entire 'Batman/Robin/Teen Titan' half of his life, he managed to deal with it, secretly hoping that one of these days Peter could know about his after school job. Not this week or this year, but someday. Maybe.

( This back-story is told in "Man on the Bench".)

A week and a half later they were in Colorado, Dick seemingly having shaken off whatever was bothering him at least for now and both of the kids having a good time on the slopes and in the town itself. The smaller Wayne jet was safely parked at Aspen Airport and there were enough really rich people around that they could pretty much blend in, thank God. Dick hated the social side of the place and steered clear as much as he could, but Bruce played the game well and often as part of his cover. Everyone who was anyone was in town and the restaurants were booked solid with names, Bruce Wayne's guaranteeing a good location anywhere without the usual two or three day's advance notice.

By the end of the second day in Aspen, a pattern had developed for how they all spent their days. Dick and Peter usually went off by themselves during the day. Dick insisting to Peter that it was fine to ditch him because Bruce wasn't wired to spend all day in recreation, anyway. He'd just take a couple of runs after breakfast or lunch, then spent the rest of his time conference calling back to Wayne Enterprises headquarters until he had to go out to play at being 'Bruce Wayne, Socialite extraordinaire'. The trip was going well, Dick seemed to have left his foul mood back east for the most part and, one day at breakfast, he'd even agreed that he had, perhaps, spoken in haste to his teacher, wrong though she may have been. An apology looked like it was in the offing when they got home and both Bruce and Alfred breathed collective sighs of relief. It gave Bruce genuine pleasure to see Dick having a good time and Peter was a good kid. The vacation was going well and with any luck, the peace would last—at least for a while.

Dick and Peter had both improved in their snow boarding abilities and Dick easily impressed the peasants and those in the know with his tricks on the hills. The two boys would spend their days either skiing or snow boarding, then would go out to maybe hit a pizza place for dinner after the needed après-ski showers and changes of clothing. They'd eat, hang out, and maybe catch a movie. Kid's stuff. If they were tired they'd just hang around Bruce's Starwood chalet, maybe swimming or lazing in the Jacuzzi out on the deck that looked out to the mountains. Dick had always loved seeing the mountains through the steam rising from the hot water, he always thought it made the place look like a fantasyland; not that he'd ever admit that to anyone.

"Hey, Dick, I'm tired of pizza—how's about burgers tonight?"

"…Okay, burgers."

"God, it's not gonna kill you, dude." They were walking around town their fourth evening there, looking for their dinner, deciding on a meal like they'd done every night since they'd been there. Peter, hardly living on welfare, tried not to stare at the celebrities and the incredible wealth at every turn—all understated and Rocky Mountain High chic, of course. Bruce's chalet was the showplace he'd come to expect when dealing with anything his host owned but… "Hey, does it ever bother you?"

"What?"

"I dunno, all the money, people sucking up all the time. I mean—no offense—but your Mom and Dad didn't have a lot of bucks. Isn't this weird for you?"

"Yeah, it's weird, but Bruce really does give a lot away to charities and he even set up his own foundation for that and it's not like it's mine or anything, y'know? It's Bruce's. It's just, I dunno, it's—I sort of tune it out a lot I'm just sort of along for the ride."

"'Hell of a ride, Dude."

Dick gave him a look, half annoyance and half exasperation. "C'mon, you know it's not like that. Sure, Bruce has a lot of nice things, but it's not like he's some airhead jerk or anything. He works for what he has; okay, he inherited a lot, but he's built it up most of it himself. Besides, he usually let's me do pretty much my own thing; he's busy most of the time." Except for the non-stop Robin training, the insistence on honor roll grades and his being the perfect orphan kid to trot out whenever needed. No point in going into all that again. No point at all. Sometimes Dick thought it might have been easier in a lot of ways—if less pampered—to have just stayed in the Child Welfare system or moved in with Peter's family when he had the chance last year. But then he'd have to lose being Robin and he wouldn't do that—it was worth everything else.

Peter broke his darkening mood. "Yeah, whatever—he's been nice to me, that's for damn sure, anyway. Hey, I need a new pair of gloves—lost one on the ride back to the house this afternoon—left it in the cab or dropped it or something." They wandered into one of the town ski shops a block or so further on, Peter looking at the rack of gloves—none of which cost less than $50. The one he'd lost was from a decent Head pair his mother had picked up at Costco for $15 two years ago. Damn. He also noticed the two girls giving Dick the once over—something Dick seemed to completely miss, the bonehead.

Dick was looking over the goggles and wondering if there was any way he could pay for Peter's new gloves without embarrassing him when a salesclerk spoke to him. "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so, I've never been in here before."

"I do. I think I've seen you before—you hang around town a lot?"

Dick shrugged, shaking his head. "Not really. Maybe you saw us on a lift line or something." He went back to the goggles, the sales guy left to ring up a ski bunny buying a new ski jacket, the two girls now trying to strike up a conversation with Peter.

Ten minutes later, with help from the girls, Peter picked out his new gloves, Dick selected a new $200 pair of Smith goggles he didn't really need and took both things over to the register. The clerk was there as he handed over Bruce's credit card. He didn't bat an eye at the name.

It was when he reached behind him to get a bag that he made the connection. "That's where I know you from, I've been looking at you all season." He tapped a poster on the wall; Burton Snowboards promo team standing on a mountain in Chile last summer. Dick was on the junior team, standing on the far right of the line up. "You're one of the Burton Boarders, right?—damn, dude!—you gotta sign the poster, okay?"

(Also in Man on the Bench)

Peter and the two girls came over in time to see Dick, embarrassed and reluctantly scrawling his name with a sharpie across the corner of the Burton promo poster. "You gotta come back tomorrow, dude; the Burton rep—you know Eric? He's supposed to be here like eleven and he's gonna want to know you're around. He'll probably give you a new board or something, ask you to throw some tricks at the Winterskol, y'know?"

"Hey, look, I'm just on vacation, I'm not here for the company or anything so could you maybe keep it quiet? Please? He's a good guy, but I'm just here to chill, okay?"

"You're with one of the board companies? That is so totally cool!" The small blonde girl was looking at Dick with something approaching awe, her taller friend not far behind.

"Yeah, my cousin is awesome on a half-pipe. Burton had him touring South America last summer for them and everything—you should see him—maybe tomorrow? We could meet you on the hill?"

Dick looked daggers at Peter. "We have to get going, Cuz—dinner, remember?"

"We hadn't even decided where we wanted to go—maybe you'd like to join us?" The girls jumped at the chance, evidently having already decided that blonde would get Dick, while the one with the reddish hair staked a claim on Peter. "C'mon, Dick, we gotta eat. Ladies?"

Trapped, carrying the bag with the gloves and the goggles, Dick decided to make the best of it. What the hell—he was in Aspen with his cousin who doubled as one of his best friends. They had a couple of cute girls they'd impressed already and he was hungry. 'Go with the flow, Grayson', ran through his mind. "Does everyone like Elevation?" Everyone did. The restaurant, Elevation, was half a block down. It was supposed to be one of the best restaurants in town, bar none and that was saying something in this place.

It was crowded, of course, but the kids were seated at a table near a fireplace. They ordered their meals—steaks for the boys, salads for the girls with soda because of their ages. The girls started the conversation going.

"I'm Erin and this is my sister, Lisa." Erin was the blonde.

"I'm Peter and this is my cousin, Dick."

"So where are you guys from, anyway? East Coast?"

"I'm from Gotham, Peter is from Connecticut. What about you?"

"California—San Francisco. Do you come here a lot or is this your first trip? We've never been here before, we usually just go to Big Bear but this year Dad decided to splurge and—where are you staying?"

"Dick's guardian has a place here."

"He owns a condo? Omigod, you are so lucky—we're staying at Little Nell. It's okay, but it's a hotel, y'know? So you come here all the time, right?"

Dick wasn't about to let on Bruce's place wasn't some cheesy condo, but an Architectural Digest special and a local showplace. Forget that. "We try to get here once a year, but last year we didn't make it at all and the year before we ended up doing other stuff." They'd skied Gastaad—"And hotels have room service going for them—and laundry and everything. We have to do our own." When Alfred didn't do it for them.

Erin looked worried. "How much does this place cost? We only have like thirty dollars between us—we can go back to the room and get more, but we thought we'd just end up at KFC or someplace…"

"We invited you, it's our treat." Dick usually didn't throw money around, but once in a while…

"How did you get so good on a snowboard? I've been trying to learn some tricks for a couple of years and I'm okay on the basic moves, but the doubles and stuff are just really hard to nail."

"Dick is a gymnast and he transferred it to snow."

"Thank you, Peter and now shut up, please." Dick seemed really annoyed, something Peter had almost never seen with him. Modest? Embarrassed? He should be used to compliments by now but he'd been snarky since lunch—what crawled up his butt today?

The girls tried to diffuse it. "Maybe you could give me some pointers tomorrow? I mean, if you guys don't have any real plans or anything?"

Dick seemed to make an effort. "Sure. 'Sounds like fun."

The dinner went smoothly after that, they were nice girls and all four kids were having a good time after the brief hiccup. Finishing their meals, they decided to find a place for dancing. The Lava Lounge was a couple pf blocks away—live bands, lot's of people and the kids spent a couple hours dancing there before agreeing to meet the next day while on the walk back to Nell's.

"How are you two for boarding Ajax?" The girls looked dubious; it's a very big mountain geared mainly to experts. Dick had a quick solution, "Look, tell you what. We'll pick you up in your lobby at ten and take the bus over to Snowmass. Okay?" A couple of semi-chase kisses by the elevator up to their rooms and the two boys hailed a cab to take them back to Starwood, quick showers, questions from Alfred as to whether or not they'd had a good time and bed. Bruce was still out at some party.

The next morning they were back when the said they'd be and walked in to find Lisa and Erin waiting with their father.

"Dad wanted to meet you guys, okay?" Erin looked like she wanted to fall through the floor.

Dick, used to meeting adults and social trappings, walked over and shook hands. "Hello, I'm Dick Grayson and this is my cousin, Peter Simpson."

"I'm Mark Forest, good to meet you both." The father, a lawyer or accountant from the look of him, smiled; at least the kids knew the social basics. "You're planning on going over to Snowmass? How were you planning on getting there, cab?"

"There's a bus that runs, if that's all right with you."

"Well, Blair—Mrs. Forest, and I were going to try those slopes ourselves, so we'd be happy to give you a ride, if that's all right with you."

Dick and Peter exchanged a glance. Parents keeping a close eye on their daughters, fine, whatever. "That would be great, thanks. We have our stuff right outside, if you're all ready, we can load up."

Less than half an hour later they were riding first of the lifts that would take them up to the Burn. That's one of the beauties of skiing the Rockies—the mountains are so big that two or three runs fills a morning and another three or so takes care of the afternoon. Great trails, great snow and the sky the color called 'Aspen blue'—it was why they'd flown two thousand miles for this. The four teenagers split off from the girl's parents after the first run, opting for the more difficult slopes and agreeing to either meet up later or call for more details. The kids, the two couples were getting along well, despite Dick being a little bored at having to hold back so much so the others could keep up. He was used to that, but it still irritated him, especially when he was trying to let loose and have fun. Luckily Erin could board fairly well, was pretty and seemed like someone he could stand to be around for more than ten minutes and Peter seemed ready to practically propose to Lisa…talk about stars in his eyes. They broke for lunch up on the hill at Sam's Knob, eating their food out on the deck, enjoying the incredible view and good company and planning dinner together.

Alfred, taking advantage of everyone eating almost every meal out, allowed himself the time to actually relax, while keeping a close eye on three his charges while seeming to be merely either reading or gallery hopping, indulging being able to treat himself to his own pleasures.

…Until late Thursday afternoon when he got the call from the ski patrol letting him know Dick was being brought down the mountain on a sled and would be ambulanced to Aspen Valley Hospital. He was unconscious after a fall and, while the details were still sketchy, it seemed to have involved a wipeout on a half pipe. But Ajax didn't have a half pipe. No, the boy had been injured over at Snowmass, a good fifteen or twenty minute ride from Aspen proper. Going to the study immediately, Alfred informed the Master. The kids had probably hitched or taken a bus or cab over to the other mountain. Good Lord. They were supposed to check in and report any changes in plans. They both knew this and Dick certainly knew better than to just take off. Enough—this side of things would be dealt with after they knew the real situation.

Bruce and Alfred arrived at the ER entrance inside of five minutes, running in to find Dick was still in transit.

Pacing, outwardly maintaining calm and control, both men were beside themselves with worry. Dick had been injured any number of times before, but not knowing the extent of the problem, not even being completely sure he was still alive was every parent's worse nightmare. The head of ER tried to help, telling them what little he could from initial radio reports—the accident happened at the Pipeline Park lower on the mountain, on the expert pipe called Velvet falls and the ski patrol would be taking it slow, being as careful as they could. It was normal for things to take a little while, this wasn't unusual. They'd be here soon.

Bruce saw one of the nurses look up in some surprise when the doctor mentioned the name of the pipe—then glance at her watch, looking a question at another nurse beside her.

Bruce shook his head, after everything Dick dealt with on a day-to-day basis, all the things he did that were dangerous, for him to have an accident on a slope was almost in the realm of impossible to believe. Yes, of course he could make a mistake, lose his balance, catch an edge, but Dick could ski or board anything, anywhere under any circumstances. He really was that good. Dick was an expert skier—he'd learned from his parents when he was still a toddler and he'd been boarding since he was eleven. He could handle anything, and had—the Rockies, the Alps. He was good, better than Bruce. Just last winter he'd been offered that sponsorship deal from Burton snowboards. Bruce had been furious at the time, thinking his secret identity could have been compromised, but he'd relented and allowed Dick to travel with them for five weeks last summer, proud of the boy's talent.

Finally after twenty minutes which could have been days and with radio reports coming in giving vital signs (thank God he was still alive, at least), they saw the flashing lights pull up to the entrance, doctors and nurses going out to meet the stretcher that was wheeled directly into one of the treatment cubicles. All Bruce could see was a figure wrapped in blankets, an IV drip of some kind going and blood on both the blanket and the pillow. Dick's head was wrapped in some kind of heavy bandages and his neck was in a standard collar. His hair, what they could see of it, was matted down, his skin white despite his usual tan.

His eyes were closed and he seemed unresponsive.

Peter, frightened to death, silently sat on one of the hard plastic chairs, still wearing his snowboarding boots and there were other people, strangers around him who had come in at the same time the ambulance had pulled in. He was close to tears as Alfred managed to sit next to him, speaking quietly.

Delivered into the trauma room, Bruce could do nothing but wait while the medical people did what they could to determine the extent of Dick's injuries and decide what they would do. Seeing one of the paramedics leaving, Bruce took his arm. "What can you tell me?"

"Is he a relative, sir?"

"My son."

"What's his name?"

"Dick. Dick Grayson." One of the nurses heard his answer and started talking behind the curtain. "Dick? Dick, can you hear me? If you can hear me I need you to squeeze my hand. Dick…"

The paramedic—his nametag said 'Tim', spoke to Bruce again, pulling his attention partially away from what was going on a few feet away. "The ski patrol told me that he was coming down the big half-pipe, picking up speed for a triple of some kind—do you know the run?" Bruce shook his head; Dick did a lot of things on slopes he stayed away from. "It's over on it's own section of the hill, expert only kinda pipe. It can be a tough stretch and I heard it was pretty icy today. Anyway, he was up there and probably caught an edge or got distracted or something, I dunno, I wasn't there or anything. It looks like he was probably going pretty fast and kinda lost control then slid into a tree or support over on the side."

Jesus. "How bad?"

Tim shrugged and had this look of pity in his eyes. That, more than anything, scared the hell out of Bruce. "He looks like he dislocated his shoulder, maybe broke it." That wasn't so big deal. "And he hit his head, I don't know how hard. They'll find that out as soon as they can." Tim put his hand on Bruce's shoulder, neither knowing nor likely caring who he was beyond being a terrified parent, like the ones he saw almost every day. "They're good here, your son's in good hands, okay?" His radio made crackling sound. "I have to go, but they'll do whatever has to be done for him—you can count on it."

If it wasn't too late. If anything could be done.

He walked over to the admitting nurse. "Do they have diagnostic equipment for head injuries here? CAT's? MRI?"

She'd seen this controlled panic before, she was as used to it as the others, and she was used to dealing with people who could get whatever they wanted or needed with a phone call or a look. Whoever this guy was, he was one of those—rich, powerful and going to move heaven and hell to get what he wanted. "Yes, sir, we have state of the art facilities and the people to run them. Forgive me, but do you have your son's insurance card with you? And I need you to sign some release forms, if you could."

"Uh, Alfred?" He looked over at the old man, stoically sitting next to Peter near the examining room, trying to see past the crowd working around Dick.

"It should be in his wallet, I would think." The admitting nurse made her way in, gathered Dick's clothing and went back to the desk. Going through the zipped pockets of his jacket, she found an obviously expensive wallet along with a tube of chapstick.

"Would you prefer to get the card out for me, sir?" Bruce did so, handing over the piece of plastic for the woman to Xerox, idly going through the other contents while he waited: a hundred dollars, two credit cards, a few candid pictures of the Titans in street clothes, his student ID card, his learner's permit and not much else. This could be the wallet of any rich kid in a place like Aspen, there was nothing to set him apart from he usual crowd you'd find in this sort of resort town in season. 'Just another spoiled rich kid having a good time.

Then they had to wait.

"Mr. Grayson?" The man who'd come in with Dick was next to him.

"Wayne. My name is Bruce Wayne. Dick is my son."

Whatever. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it that moment. T would come to him eventually. "I'm Mark Forest, this is my wife and daughters, Dick was with us today on the hill. Well, he was really with my girls and his cousin here."

"Do you know what happened?"

"The kids went off on their own, we weren't at the half pipe when he got hurt. We were in the village waiting for the kids to meet us…"

Bruce dismissed him as soon as he heard he didn't really now anything. "Peter?" The boy looked up at Dick's whatever he was; guardian, Dad, whatever—his Bruce. "Was Dick wearing his helmet on the pipe?"

He hesitated and that told Bruce what he'd feared. "Um, we weren't going to do tricks—honest. We were just going to board Snowmass—we were up on the Burn and it was getting late so we were going for one last run. We got down and were in the Village—we were going to get some hot chocolate and then the Forest's were going to give us a ride back, but then Dick saw the half pipes and, um, you know—he just wanted to try them."

"So he didn't have his helmet with him?"

"We weren't going to do tricks—I swear. We were just going cruising, but he saw the pipes and we were just going to make like one run, but then he wanted to go again and the pipe was in shade by then and it was kind of icy and they were starting to close down but he wanted one more run so he was going really fast 'cause I think he wanted to throw a triple but his board seemed to catch on something and it spun him around, but he was at the top of the pipe and he fell."

"How did he land, Peter? Dick knows how to fall—how did he land, what happened?"

Peter was closer to tears. "He landed on his shoulder and he just kinda went limp and then he skidded on the ice and slid into a tree. I got there as fast as I could and the ski patrol was right there, but…" He had tears on his face, unnoticed. "He was bleeding and he was unconscious. They got the board for him and a doctor and they called the ambulance. I gave them your number ad I guess they called you, too, right?" Bruce nodded. "They let me ride with them and he didn't wake up the whole trip here."

"Excuse me, are you Dick's father?" One of the doctors came out of the examining cubicle. "I'm Brad Wilson, head of emergency medicine."

"Bruce Wayne. Yes, he's my son. Is he…?"

"He's starting to regain consciousness, but he's pretty groggy. We're going to take him up for an MRI, see what we can about his skull and vertebra and we need to get a picture of his shoulder and clavicle as well."

"Can you tell me anything yet?"

"Mr.…Wayne? I know you're anxious, but I can give you an educated guess now or I can give you an informed opinion in fifteen or twenty minutes."

TBC

7/1/05

11


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Teenagers Part Three

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick, Bruce, Alfred, OC

Rating: PG 13

Summary: Dick and the family chills out a bit on a ski trip

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes. It's a holiday weekend, I didn't want to bother anyone so blame me for mistakes.

****

**Teenagers… **

****

**Part Three**

****

Bruce and Alfred took turns keeping watch in Dick's hospital room that first night, and the Forests took watch over Peter, allowing him to stay on a cot in the girl's room over at Little Nell so he wouldn't be alone. They found out that Dick had a severe concussion, though the CT scan showed no skull fracture. His right shoulder, the one that took the brunt of the impact, was dislocated but has been repositioned and he'd fractured the clavicle, though not badly at all. His back and side were badly bruised, but it appeared to be superficial. He had an egg on his head and a black eye. There was no serious damage to either his neck or back. He had no apparent spinal cord damage.

He'd been lucky.

Bruce was furious.

Dick and his cousin had decided to board a hill without telling anyone where they were going to be. He'd been showing off and he'd been doing tricks without a helmet. In addition to that, he'd taken a last run at the end of the day when his legs were tired, knowing that the pipe was icy, in shade and closing down. Then he'd tried to pull a triple flip to impress a girl—for God's sake, he'd been performing since he was four years old, wasn't he beyond this sort of garbage yet? Hormones or not, he knew better.

Besides all that, Dick knew full well that when he was injured it affected not just him and Alfred who would end up dealing with his care, plus it affected the efficiency of Batman and the Titans as well.

He knew this. It had been drilled into him time and again over the years, Bruce thought he understood and now he goes and pulls a lame stunt like this…

He was acting like a spoiled brat lately, not the disciplined crime fighter and professional athlete he'd been trained to be—and this was coming on top of his moodiness over the last few months and his deplorable behavior at school a couple of weeks ago. This kind of defiance and flat out stupidity was unacceptable and it would stop. One way or another, it would stop.

Dick slept most of the night, being woken every hour to make sure he wasn't slipping into coma or deep unconsciousness from the hit on the head. If he checked out in the morning, he would be released, but would have to wear a sling to help his collarbone heal. And that was another thing; as soon as the Burton rep for the West coast found out how one of their up and coming stars had managed to distinguish himself while blowing off a request to please throw a couple of tricks while they were all in Snowmass—something else Bruce was unaware of—the man had brought flowers, asked how Dick was and politely said they would be reevaluating whether or not Dick was the kind of role model they were looking for.

Great. Not that Dick needed the job or anything, but to be let go? To be let go for blatant stupidity?

Bruce was furious.

By eight the next morning Dick was awake for good. He was also sore, hungry and anxious about the extent of his injuries, though suspected they weren't anything to really get too excited about—especially allowing for the stuff he'd been through in the last few years.

One glance at Bruce, staring at him from the hospital bed next to his and he also knew he was in serious trouble.

"How do you feel?"

"All right. How am I?"

Bruce sat up and swung his feet around so he could stand up. "You'll live." He walked out to the hallway where Dick could hear voices. A few minutes later a nurse came in, took his vitals, smiled at him and promised that the doctor would be in soon. "Where's Bruce?"

"Mr. Wayne asked me to tell you that he was going home to shower and change. Did you want anything?"

"…No, thanks." She smiled at him again and left, leaving the door open. Half an hour or so later Dr. Wilson came in, gave him another once over, asked if he had a headache—he did—or any double vision or dizziness—he lied and said he didn't, looked over his chart and pronounced him ready to be discharged. A few last minute instructions about taking it easy and to see his regular doctor when he got home, be careful till his collar bone healed, stay off the slopes for a few weeks and he should be as good as new—and be sure to remember his helmet next time. If he felt badly or noticed any symptoms, he should give them a call, but he looked pretty good, considering.

"All right, is your Dad here? I'll just release you to his care and you can go."

"He's busy right now so if you could just sign me out, I can get a cab back to the house." He saw the look the doctor gave him. "Really, I'll be fine, it's just a couple of miles from here, like a five minute drive."

"You mind if I call first to make sure someone is there?"

Shrugging a 'no', Dick gave him the number. Evidently Alfred answered and insisted he'd be right there to pick up the poor boy. Dick, hearing this, was annoyed. He wasn't a little kid and he was perfectly capable of dealing with a taxi but went along with it to simplify things. Then it occurred to him his clothes were shredded where they'd been cut off of him yesterday.

Damnit. If Alfred didn't think to bring anything—but of course he did. Alfred arrived in about fifteen minutes with clean jeans, sweater, underwear, socks and sneakers. Twenty minutes later the papers were signed, he was dressed and headed back to the chalet.

"Where's Peter?"

"Master Peter called this morning inquiring as to your health and then said he would be snowboarding with the two young ladies you were in the company of yesterday. They hope you'll feel up to joining them later for dinner."

"Bruce?"

A sigh, then, "Master Bruce is somewhat upset with you at the moment. I suspect he'll wish to discuss your misadventure shortly."

"Alfred? I'm sorry you were worried about me. I really am."

Alfred took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at Dick—that in itself told the boy how much he'd upset the old man. "I know that, and I know how difficult it is to maintain all of one's ducks in line at one time while having to keep several of them invisible. I just wish you fully believed how many people truly care deeply about you."

Whatever he'd expected, that wasn't it and Dick had no ready or glib answer. "…I do know, Alfred."

"No, my lad, I don't believe you do quite yet."

Alfred helped Dick into the living room—a much less formal place than the one at the Manor, and had him settled in front of the large TV, snacks and soda close at hand and was glad to see the boy asleep on the couch half an hour later. The shock of the accident and his injuries along with his sleep being interrupted every hour last night ensured his exhaustion. The Master was in the study involved with one of his endless conference calls back to Gotham and had a charity dinner at the Hotel Jerome to attend later. With any luck things would be calm today, Dick's inevitable chastisement being postponed for a day or two until everyone was feeling better and had gained some perspective on what had happened.

Dick slept through to about five and then only woke because Peter sat on the edge of the couch. "You okay?"

He stretched a little, wincing as he pulled something he shouldn't have. "Better, I'm good."

"'You up for dinner or would you rather stay here—you want to order in or something? The girls said they'd join us either way and they understand if you want to beg off."

Dick sat up, a little stiffly, yawning. "No, I'll go. Where are we going?" He swayed slightly and his head was killing him. "Maybe ordering in is an idea."

Peter smiled—he'd figured as much. "I'll call Erin and Lisa to cab over, okay?" He made the call, they'd be there as soon as they could." The two settled back on the couch to wait. "So, Bruce tear you a new one or something?"

"Not yet, but I'm sure he will." Dick tried for cocky, but didn't quite pull it off and knew it. "It's just…He expects me to be perfect all the time, y'know? Honor Roll, varsity letters, dragging me to society dinners, spending a couple of days every month at Wayne Headquarters and then if I do something wrong, if I screw up he's…" Dick didn't bother to keep going.

"If you screw up he's disappointed."

"Right. And I don't want that, I mean shit—he took me in and all of that, y'know? We're sitting in his ski chalet in Aspen, which we flew to on one of his private jets, for Christ's sake. Last year we were at his island in the Bahamas. Oh hell, that's not what I mean, the money, the things and the trips and all of that are great but it's a lot more than that. After my parents were killed it was, I didn't know how…I just…I owe him everything and when I disappoint him it makes me feel really crummy."

Peter knew Dick felt a lot of different things about Bruce, but they'd never really talked about it. Dick would deflect him with a joke or something, but it was always pretty clear that he didn't want to go there—until right now, anyway. "Well, sure, but he still really expects a lot from you—we've all seen it, Dick. He has you on a really short leash."

"I know that and it's something I kinda agreed to, but if it wasn't for him I'd have…there's a lot he's done for me, a lot he's taught me and let me try on my own, stuff that no one knows about. I know he trusts me…most of the time anyway, but sometimes I think I'm disappointing him or maybe I'm not the kid he should be working with."

Peter was watching Dick as he tried to explain. What an odd thing for Dick to say.

"It's like, I know he loves me and all of that, but sometimes he's so busy it's like I'm one of his employees, like I have to schedule an appointment with his secretary or something if I want to talk to him. Then I get mad at myself for whining because I know how busy he is. It's like the grades and all that stuff, even the thing with repping for Burton—I'm afraid of screwing up because it will reflect badly on Bruce and then I resent that I have all this pressure on me. I keep it to myself most of the time, but once in a while it all kind of builds up."

"Like…?"

"Like that thing with the teacher when I called her a cunt. I knew what I was doing and I knew Bruce and Alfred would be embarrassed and angry, but it was like they weren't there so I could say what I really thought for once."

"You lost me, Cuz. What are you talking about?"

Dick tried again; he really wanted Peter to understand. "It's as if he expects me to be perfect all the time, and then he can forget about me. If I'm perfect I'm invisible. Does that make any sense?"

"So you purposely mess up sometimes so he'll notice you're around."

"I guess—but then I feel like a jackass for doing something stupid."

"Like trying a triple on an icy pipe without a helmet when you're tired." They heard a car pulling up outside, the girls were probably here. "Have you ever said any of this to Bruce?"

The doorbell rang and they could hear Alfred opening the door. "Of course not."

"You should."

Then the girls were walking in, making a fuss over Dick and handing him flowers, balloons and candy while kissing his cheeks and demanding to know how he felt, should they leave and what did he want to eat—they'd order anything he wanted or even cook. One look from Alfred was enough to stop that idea cold, but the atmosphere lightened by at least twenty degrees while they exclaimed over the beauty of the house, the view and anything else they could think of to compliment.

Erin sat herself beside Dick on the couch; Lisa and Peter had a large chair by the fireplace.

Erin held Dick's good arm, "So are you okay, Dick? That fall was awful—I was scared to death and then when you were unconscious for so long, it was really awful. You're all right? And my parents, they thought you were dead or something—Dad kept talking about brain injuries and you ending up a quadriplegic or something and then he found out your Dad is Bruce Wayne and he thought his ass was going to be sooooo sued."

"I'm just a little sore, that's all, I'll get a good night's sleep and in the morning I'll be good to go. You'll see, I'll probably be back on the hill tomorrow. And Bruce would only sue if I were dead or something. Well, probably."

Erin leaned over and kissed his cheek, then moved over a bit to his mouth and may have moved on from there if they hadn't heard Alfred's discrete cough in the doorway. "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but I understand you may wish to order something from one of the local establishments? I have the collection of menus here for your perusal." He handed over a sheaf of vari-colored, stiff papers. "I shall be retiring to my room, but should the need arise, you are to call me immediately. Is that clear? I also assume you will have the sense not to over-extend yourself, Master Dick, and please remain at home this evening. Master Bruce is expected to return before ten. Any questions?" Everyone shook their heads 'no'. "Fine. I assume that you will deport yourselves like the young ladies and gentlemen you are and shall not do anything to embarrass either yourselves or the dignity of the household. Is that clear? Very well."

Alfred's exit to the far section of the house was cause for a collective sigh of relief. "How do you live like this, Cuz? God."

"Alfred is okay, he really is—you just have to understand where he's coming from, that's all. Alfred is…Alfred is great when you get to know him—and you did catch that he was almost busting a gut trying not to laugh, didn't you? He was getting a kick out of that whole thing just now."

" 'Dry English humor'?"

"Professional grade."

"Okay, who wants what to eat?"

They went through their options, which were pretty extensive with almost all the restaurants in Aspen to choose from, finally settling on Italian, which was called in and delivered within about forty-five minutes. It was, of course, incredibly good. Peter put a screener copy of the new Star Wars flick Bruce had for some reason in the DVD and they got comfortable while they ate, Dick and Erin still on the couch and Peter and Lisa on a pile of large pillows on the floor.

"Does your shoulder hurt? Are you okay?" Erin was snuggling against his uninjured side, Dick's arm around her and she was holding his hand where it was draped over her. "I could move if this is uncomfortable…" It was clear moving was the last thing on her mind and the smile he gave her made it clear he not only felt better, but had no immediate plans of going anywhere. "And you broke your collar bone, too—that must feel terrible."

"It was just a fracture, not a break." She gave him a look of horror. "A small hairline fracture. It's fine." And a lot less serious than he'd had before, though he wasn't about to tell her that. Erin held her face up in an obvious ploy to be kissed and Dick obliged. Neither of them paid too much attention to the rest of the film, but with Alfred home and the other two less than ten feet away, it didn't go beyond kissing—besides, precocious though Dick may have been in a lot of areas, he still was hurting and he was still at heart the good Catholic boy his mother had raised him to be.

The movie played along and was pretty good, if you liked Star Wars. When the closing credits rolled, Peter glanced at the clock, the first time he'd looked up since the film started, though Dick caught some serious action going on between him and Lisa when the lights were turned down. "Hey, Dick, do you think Bruce would mind of we used the pool?"

Dick looked at Peter as if he'd lost his mind. "Why would he care? Everyone up for it?"

Alfred chose this moment to flick the light back up to full brightness and wander through, obviously checking up on them and pretending he was just delivering fresh baked cookies.

"Okay if we go swimming?"

"I assume the young ladies know how to swim and you'll show them where we keep the guest bathing suits?"

Lisa and Erin looked like this was the something their mother had warned them about. Dick talked fast. "There are a bunch in the changing room, I'm sure there'll be something there that will fit you—you want to?"

"You're sure?"

"Well, I'm not up for laps, but I could get into the Jacuzzi." Truth be told, Dick's collarbone and shoulder were killing him and his head hurt like a bitch. Maybe he could pop one of those pain pills the doctor had given him when he was discharged.

"Let's do it!" Peter was pulling Lisa to her feet and Erin was helping Dick up. "I have my suit up in my room—Peter, could you show them where to go? I'll be down in a minute, okay?"

Alfred started picking up the used glasses and plates, Peter immediately helping him, the girls joining in. Dick was spared because of his injuries.

About an hour later soft music was playing with only the underwater lights on to cast moving liquid shadows around the room. Peter and Lisa were in the pool playing around with a pool toy you could sort of play toss with underwater and Dick was kissing Erin in the whirlpool when Bruce walked in, looking daggers.

"I see you're feeling better." The cold water was effectively thrown on the evening. The four kids stopped what they were doing and after embarrassed 'Hello Mr. Wayne's', the girls went to change back into their own clothes, Peter slunk off to change and help them get back to their hotel—Alfred volunteering to drive them and Dick was left alone with Bruce, wrapped in a large towel and being careful of his right side.

"We weren't doing anything, Bruce."

Bruce deigned not to offer a retort to that, however—"Get dried off and meet me upstairs. I want to talk with you." He was gone before Dick could say anything and, knowing there was no point in arguing, he did what Bruce asked.

Walking into the living room, still set up for the movie they'd watched, Dick sat across from Bruce in one of the big leather armchairs, Bruce was in the companion chair and a low table separated them. Dick's arm was in the sling and he was back in his jeans and sweater, the one Alfred gave him for Christmas.

"So I take it you are, in fact, feeling better?"

"I'm fine." His shoulder throbbed and his head was killing him.

"Good, so you're well enough to hear what I have to say to you."

Dick made a conscious effort not to roll his eyes at the melodrama even though he realized he was talking to the Bat and not Bruce right now. It was something about the set of the eyes and the mouth—unmistakable. "Just say whatever's on your mind, Bruce."

"All right. I know you've been going through a rough patch the last few months and I know there are things you're not happy about, but, frankly, I've had enough of it and I want it to stop. Talk to me or Alfred or whomever about what's troubling you, deal with it and stop the tantrums. You're too old for them and they're starting to get in the way of business. That stunt you pulled yesterday over at Snowmass was just the latest in a series and it's stopping now. Do hear what I'm saying?"

"Clear as a bell." Angry at the flippant answer, Bruce's mouth compressed into a thin line. Something about the expression struck a chord in Dick; he'd seen that same look on his real father's face once when he was about five and someone, some townie had made a suggestive and crude comment to his mother. It wasn't just anger, the look was hurt and something like defeat, as if he'd done everything he could think of and it wasn't enough to protect someone he loved. Dick knew the hurt was his fault and that twinged at his conscience. The truth was that he loved Bruce, much as they'd been clashing lately and Bruce saw Dick's face soften as he dropped the hard veneer he'd come into the room with.

Bruce's voice softened in response, the Bat was gone for now. "I've been thinking and maybe it would be a good idea if Robin backed off with the crime busting for a while." He held up his hand to stop the protest. "I just think it may be unfair to ask this much from you—your grades, helping me, leading the Titans, trying to maintain some kind of life as yourself and then the travel with Burton. Maybe we should think about letting some of it go for now and give you time to settle down a bit."

Dick went cold and it was as if he was in a space warp or something. Bruce was talking and he could hear what he was saying but it didn't make sense. He was being fired. Bruce was saying he didn't think he could cut it, couldn't handle everything. Bruce thought he was screwing up or it was too much for him or something.

Shit, he'd been right all along. Bruce thought that his being Robin was a mistake and if he thought that then he had to think his leading the Titans was a mistake too. A sidekick, he'd been the first and most people though he was the best, but if Bruce thought it was too much for him, then…And the thing with school, with his being suspended and getting hurt yesterday showing off—those things had just confirmed it.

"…Well, if you think that would be best, sure Bruce. You may be right."

TBC

7/3/05


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Teenagers Part Four

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick, Bruce, Alfred, OC

Rating: PG 13

Summary: The ski trip gets bumpier.

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Unbetaed: It's a holiday weekend and I didn't want to bother anyone so blame me for mistakes.

**Teenagers **

**Part Four**

They finished out the week in Aspen with Dick taking it relatively easy on the hill. He confined himself to Buttermilk, the 'family' mountain with the easiest runs for Mom, Dad and the kids. It wasn't what he'd normally be happy with, but it was as good as it was going to get for a while and he took it as his best and only option. His shoulder healed pretty quickly, though he still had headaches and his clavicle ached by the afternoon—not that he admitted it or anything. He had a bottle of extra strength Advil in his jacket and took them when it got bad. He was okay and, as Robin, he was pretty used to sucking up aches and pains.

Peter and the two girls scaled back so that they could all stay together and their constant questioning if he was all right, did he want to take a break, was he tired or cold or hungry were getting on his nerves. Sure, he wasn't throwing any fancy moves right now, but he could still out ski or out board any of them without trying, even injured.

The second to last night there, Bruce invited the Forest's to dinner to thank them for their help when Dick was hurt and for looking after Peter. He'd arranged for everyone to go to the Pine Tree Cookhouse, which some friend or other had recommended and which was one of those places that if you didn't know about it, you'd never know it existed—and probably couldn't afford, either. First they had to drive to a cabin up some dark mountain road with snow banked up on both sides for what seemed like forever until they saw someone with a lantern signaling them to park the car. Going into what everyone thought (except Bruce, who'd been warned ahead of time) was the restaurant; they found themselves in a handcrafted log cabin that was actually a high-end art and crafts gallery. Bruce quietly purchased necklaces for Blair Forest and the two girls and a hand-tooled belt for Mark delivered to their hotel later as a final surprise thank you.

Next they were shown to a horse drawn sleigh, piled with blankets and throws, which took them a couple of miles to the actual restaurant further along the trail while they sang Christmas carols—Dick starring in amazement when Bruce joined in on Jingle Bells, who was deeply in his 'host' persona. The food was as good as you'd expect and the evening went well—friendly, cheerful. Dick knew that when the Forest's left in the morning to go back to California, they'd probably never see each other again, but the story of their big ski trip to Aspen where they'd met Bruce Wayne—yes, THE Bruce Wayne and were even treated to a special dinner by him, would make the rounds in their set for years to come. It was always like that when someone met Bruce for the first time.

Dick was used to it. Bruce was a big deal.

Dick really was felling better, at least physically and the last morning he and Peter had on the slopes—against doctor's orders, Dick tried a couple of easy runs down the half pipe. He even made a point of apologizing to Eric, the Burton Board West Coat rep and managed to salvage his contract after he showed his attitude adjustment and quick healing abilities. He even agreed to an autograph session at the ski shop, something he normally would have killed to avoid.

He and Bruce were walking on eggshells around each other, which wasn't unusual for them lately. Or, rather, Dick was. Bruce just went about his business as if nothing had happened. After lunch they all—Bruce and the two boys, moved to Aspen Highlands, yet another mountain, and skied or boarded a few hours that last afternoon, actually enjoying the mountain, carving daisy chains in new powder and having plain old fun together.

It was on the last run of the day that they hit more trouble.

The three of them were making a last run down Golden Horn over at the Highlands, it was a wide and open intermediate slope they'd usually skip, but because of Dick's still sore shoulder were taking it as an easy way down. Peter saw something lying in the snow over at the side and veered over to pick it up; a football. Laughing, he tossed it to Bruce who tossed it back. Dick caught it next and the three of them had an impromptu game of catch as they headed to the bottom. Without realizing or even meaning to, they were going faster but since they were all experts, this wouldn't be a problem on a simple hill like this one. There was almost no one there other than the three of them and they were staying well clear of the few people around. There was no real danger.

Then Dick extended to catch another pass that had gone a little wide. If he'd been on a field in sneakers he'd have had it easily, but sliding a little too fast down a mountain, recovering from an injury, tired at the end of the day and still sore, he simply reached too far, overbalanced and fell, his momentum causing him to slide and tumble a good hundred yards before finally stopping in the deeper snow at the side of the run.

Bruce and Peter were there immediately, having paced him down as he lost control. He was conscious but obviously injured.

"Where does it hurt?" Bruce was kneeling next to him, Peter on his other side.

"My collar bone again. I think I really broke it this time."

An hour or so later back at Aspen Hospital Dick was in the same examining room and Bruce was seeing red.

"You were still having headaches and seeing double and you didn't tell anyone? What the hell was going through your mind—that you're invincible? Immortal? That you can just ignore the symptoms and side effects of a concussion while snowboarding some of the biggest mountains in the country and no harm done?"

"Mr. Wayne, you're not helping. Please, we need to get Dick over to the OR to set that clavicle."

In pain, humiliated and tired, Dick wasn't in the mood for this, especially in public. "Could we do his later, please?"

"Count on it." Bruce gave Dick a classic bat glare on his way out so that Dick was relieved when the anesthesia let him escape for a while.

When he finally came to hours later, Alfred was sitting in the chair next to his bed, quietly reading. Saying nothing and moving only his eyes, Dick watched him for a long time, thinking about how the old man had made his life bearable. He was the softening force that counteracted the hard lessons he'd learned from Bruce and the Bat. In the parlance of the trade, he was the good cop to Bruce's hard ass. Even with his proper English façade that almost never slipped, he was the yin to Bruce's yang and thank God for that. If Alfred hadn't been around Dick didn't know if he'd have been able to stand it.

Sure, when he'd first moved into the Manor he was thrilled, but how could he have not been after everything that happened? He was eight years old and his parents were killed in from of him and then he was locked up in Juvie for a month with a bunch of teenaged gang members. That had been fun—Christ, a tent on an iceberg would have looked good in comparison.

Sure, Bruce took care of his physical needs, gave him a place to sleep and food and clothes to wear, but he'd done a lot more than just that. He'd given Dick a reason to care again. If you wanted to call a spade a spade, he'd given Dick a reason to keep going when all he'd wanted to do was crawl into a closet and cry. He'd given him training and a mission and a way to do what mattered most—to bring in the men who'd killed his parents and destroyed his life. Then he'd kept Dick going with an unending series of new cases and problems to be solved. Slowly, he'd come to accept Dick as his partner and allowed the old confidence that had allowed him to turn a quad without a net at eight to show itself again and again against odds that should have stopped a freight train.

Jesus Christ—what was he doing? Making more excuses for the shitty, absentee way Bruce treated him? What kind of parent yells at a kid who's just been hurt and is lying on a hospital gurney waiting to go to surgery?

There was no getting it right when you worked with Bruce or the Bat. He was right, you were wrong. Period. His way or the highway. That's the way it was and that was the way it would always be.

But the other bottom line, whether he liked it or not, was that he loved Bruce. No, not like in the gossip columns were always insinuating or anything like that—as a mentor, guardian, teacher and—hell, yes—as a father.

Something had to give here.

He moved, shifted slightly and his gasp of pain made Alfred calmly look up. "Ah, good, you've rejoined us, Master Dick. You've given me more than enough frights for one vacation, if you don't mind. May I dare to hope that things will be a bit quieter for a while?"

"May I have some water, please?"

Alfred got some ice chips from a small bucket on the side table, placing several in Dick's mouth. The cold and wet helped. "Did they get the bone set all right?"

"The surgeon told us that everything went well and, though you'll be incapacitated for two to three months, you should heal without problem. Assuming you cooperate, that is."

He was still feeling pretty fuzzy from the drugs they'd given him. "Is Bruce here?"

There was a momentary pause, almost a hesitation. "I'm afraid that the Master was recalled back to Gotham late last evening. He drove to Denver and flew a commercial jet home as he thought that you would be more comfortable in the privacy of the Lear."

"He's gone? What about Peter?"

"Master Peter is enjoying an extra day on the slopes. As soon as you're released and are declared fit to travel, we shall be headed home ourselves. Now, if you would rest for a moment, I shall summon your physician to check on your progress—though I must say that you look far better than when you were brought in yesterday afternoon." Alfred got up and turned towards the door.

"Alfred? Was he really mad?"

Alfred heard the question within the question. "Angry is the wrong word. He was worried about you."

"But…"

"Master Dick, Bruce loves you dearly, much as his means of expressing himself aren't always as we would wish. He was deeply concerned about your condition and questioned the doctors closely about your recovery. And you can safely bet that when we get home, you will be seeing the finest specialists he can locate."

"But he seemed so angry."

"He was worried about you."

"But…"

"Forgive me, but I believe that you're reading more into his reaction than was there. You were injured and in pain. All he wanted was to get you the help you needed as quickly as possible and that may have caused him to be a bit more short than he would have wanted. His concern was for you, as well you must know."

Dick gave a half nod in agreement so Alfred could get the doctor, but he'd seen the look on Bruce's face up on the mountain. He's been angry and disappointed. Sure, what Alfred said made sense as far as Alfred knew, but he hadn't been there, Dick had.

Three day later Dick was cleared to travel, though he was given pain meds for the flight and was glad of them. Peter was subdued, though he did his best to cheer Dick up and he'd even gotten a few phone calls from Erin and Lisa, hoping he was feeling better and letting him know that their parents were talking about maybe taking a trip east in the spring or summer to look at colleges and maybe they could get together.

They were mid flight, Alfred had served them finger foods for lunch in deference to Dick's bandaged arm and shoulder and the two boys were sitting together with the last Indiana Jones film playing on the jet's movie screens.

"So, you gonna be all right when you get back?"

"Yeah, sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"C'mon, Dick, this is me, your cousin you're talking to here—you know, blood is thicker than water and all of that. You gonna be okay with Bruce? You finally gonna get around to actually talking to him?"

"I could if he was in the country. After he gets back he'll be so swamped that he'll be at work till ten every night, then he starts on his own projects. I probably won't see him for more than five minutes for weeks."

"Have you tried, 'Hey, Bruce, I need to talk to you'?"

Dick wasn't going there, not right now. "…So did you hear from Lisa? It looked like you two were getting pretty serious in that sled going home from the restaurant."

"With her parents sitting next to us—yeah, right."

"And in the pool and in the Jacuzzi and on the lifts…"

"Yeah, well just because I don't have all that Catholic guilt you were raised with, get your jealousy under control, dude. And you and Erin looked like you were doing just fine, come to think of it."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I'll ever see her again or anything."

"Bull. She told me at she's looking at Gotham U and maybe either Hudson of Wellesley and she's a really good student with all kinds of activities, she could end up like walking distance from you. I'm telling you, Cuz—don't blow this, she really likes you."

A lot of girls liked Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne's money. It was part of the package. The only girls who didn't want him for his or Bruce's bank account were Donna, Barbara and maybe Garth's girlfriend, Tula who barely gave him the time of day. "C'mon, Peter, it was just a vacation thing."

"And you know this because…? Dick, dude, I'm telling you, the girl really likes you."

Enough. "So are you coming this weekend?"

"Can't. I have midterms coming up and if I don't do well, my ass is grass. Besides, I promised my Mom that I'd go up to the ski house with her and my brothers. Maybe next month, okay?"

"Sure, no problem. I'll call you."

When they got back to the Manor Dick found out at Bruce had been called to some economic conference in Geneva and would be gone for at least another five days.

His second night home Dick was trying to do some homework, getting frustrated because his right hand was caught up in the sling and hurt like a bitch to move. The school's solution was to allow him to do as much of his homework as was feasible into a tape recorder, but things like math problems and science forced him to scrawl with his left hand and it was slow and almost illegible. He'd also had to answer the same 'What happened to you?' questions a thousand time walking through the halls and it was getting on his nerves. Plus he felt like an anvil was hanging over his head waiting for Bruce to get back.

He did apologize to his teacher when he'd gotten back, the one he'd sworn at, and she agreed that she hadn't considered the possibility that one of her students would react so strongly to something like that or that they could have a personal connection the way he id—the twit. Dick thought she was an idiot, but managed to keep his mouth shut.

He and Peter spoke a lot on the phone, since Dick was pretty hampered using his computer, making e-mails or IMing too difficult to bother with.

He was not having fun, though the call from Barbara was a nice twenty-minute escape. She'd heard, of course, and wanted to make sure he was really all right and their conversation had taken on that half friend/half flirting tone they'd been getting into the last year or so. If she just wasn't so hung up on their ages…

A call from Wally came through on his Titans communicator just as he was about to throw something.

"Hey, Robbie, we were all talking about you this afternoon—have a good time in Colorado?"

"Great. I was going to call you; I have to take a kind of leave for a while from the group. I kinda broke my collarbone."

Before he could finish the sentence, Wally was standing in his room. "Jeez, Dick—how bad?"

"It'll be okay, but I'm kinda set down for at least a month."

Wally came over and sat on the edge of the bed. "Man, but you're the engine of the Titans, if you're not there then all that happens is Roy hits on Donna and Garth stays in Atlantis. Man…"

"C'mon, it's not that bad." Yes, it was and they all knew it.

"Oh, man. Maybe you could just like show up for the meetings and sort of direct things. Maybe you could do that, y'think?"

"I have all this schoolwork to finish up and I'm behind—it's gonna be a while."

"Man…" Wally glanced at the clock. "Gotta go, I'm watching a movie with my parents and the ads should be about over. Look, I'll tell the others and we'll figure something out, okay?" And he was gone.

Dick knew that the word would spread fast, with Kid Flash spreading it. All he had to do was sit back and wait for the fallout.

And Bruce would be back in a couple of days, too.

Oh, great.

TBC

7/5/05


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Teenagers Part Five/conclusion

Author: Simon

Characters: Dick, Bruce, some Donna

Rating: PG 13

Summary: They finally talk.

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

Unbetaed. It's a holiday weekend; I didn't want to bother anyone so blame me for mistakes. And yes, I know Robin has been injured while crime fighting a zillion times. Just go with it, okay?

**Teenagers…**

**Part Five**

A month after the accident Dick was bored almost to tears.

No snowboarding.

No mopeding.

No real workouts.

No Titans.

No Robin.

However, he did have lots of homework.

He could watch movies.

He could read.

He could eat.

He could do almost anything while staying fairly stationary.

Bruce allowed him to do some crime fighting work, as well.

Lots of reviewing cases.

Lots of computer practice as he regained mobility in his arm.

Lots of anticipating Joker and Two Face's next moves.

And lots of silence from Bruce.

And even more from Batman.

He could and did spend a lot of time on the phone to his friends, but since he was without his own transportation, he'd feel like a complete moron having Alfred drive him to the Lair for meetings or a movie. He spent more time with the few kids at school he vaguely considered to be friends and even started having a semi-real social life with them. He was unable to hit the slopes for Burton, but he did agree to a couple of poster signing promos in Gotham and New York which annoyed Bruce and he was allowed to visit Peter one weekend, as well, after Bruce gave explicit instructions to his aunt about what was and what wasn't acceptable.

He was seriously bored and harassed Dr. Leslie to let him do more, but she was steadfast in her refusal, insisting that he risked restraining the clavicle and could suffer a permanent injury of he did the sort of things she knew he'd be doing. The really aggravating part was that he knew she was right.

And he and Bruce still hadn't exchanged more than about a dozen words, or so it seemed to Dick, since they were both home. Every morning at breakfast, Bruce would be finishing his coffee as Dick took his seat, would calmly and politely greet him, fold his newspaper and announce that he had to be getting to he office. He missed seventeen dinners in a row, citing social engagements and when that became so ridiculous even Alfred was rolling his eyes, he switched to saying he had to either work in the cave or deal with Justice League business. He would then stay out until he was sure that Dick had gone to bed to repeat the pattern again in the morning.

Much as Dick was maintaining his usual good humor for everyone, it was starting to privately seriously get him down and Alfred had caught him several times staring out the big living room window, lost in thought.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore. He called the Lair to see who was there and lucked out when Donna said—insisted—that she'd be right over. An hour later they were sitting in the conservatory by the indoor pool, feet in the water and watching the snow outside, drinking iced tea despite the season and talking.

"It's insane—he's insane. I mean he hasn't spoken to me in weeks, practically. I walk into the room and he finds an excuse to walk out. I sit down to eat dinner and, if he's even here he decides he's not hungry." He gave her a half smile. "His subtlety is slipping."

"But do you know why he's so angry with you? I mean, are you even sure this is what's really going on? Maybe it's something completely different from what you think it is."

"Donna, he's just always pissed at me and if he isn't, it's clear that I'm disappointing him somehow." He stopped after that outburst, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I know I sound like a ten year old and someone took my candy, but he really has changed. It's not my imagination. You should have seen the look on his face on the hill when I told him I thought I'd broken my collarbone. You'd have thought that I'd punched him."

"Does Alfred have any ideas? Have you asked him?"

Dick shook his head. "I didn't want to bother him."

"Like he hasn't noticed." She put her hand on his good shoulder, "Well, then you have to talk to Bruce. You have to. When you see him, when he comes in just make him listen."

Dick nodded, looking at the water, that was what his cousin Peter had said, too. "You're right. I know you're right."

They sat together for a little while, watching the ripples their feet were making, then, looking at her watch, Donna had to go. Kissing Dick on the cheek, she gave him a careful hug. "Talk to him, okay? Promise me? And call me, let me know how it goes, all right?" Then she let herself out, leaving Dick to his thoughts.

He was sixteen years old and he'd been living with Bruce roughly half of his life. He'd be seventeen in a couple of months and that would tip the scale—he'd have lived with Bruce longer than he'd lived with his parents.

His parents had taught him about flying, responsibility, working together and so, in his own way, had Bruce.

But there were major differences beyond the obvious. His parents had instilled in him a sense of community with the other cast and crewmembers of the show. They'd let him know everyday how much they believed in him, loved him and counted on him. Bruce never let him forget how much depended on him, but it was always with corrections and criticisms, do things his way, higher, faster, smarter—trying to meet impossible standards.

His parents had made sure it was fun—God, Dick could still hear his Dad's laugh now. The least little thing would set it off and he'd get everyone in earshot joining in. And there wasn't a day that went by his mother didn't hug him or kiss him and tell him she loved him until he'd blush and squirm away because the other kids could see… "Mom…!"

When was the last time anyone did that? Okay, Donna, but it wasn't the same.

Suddenly Dick slipped his arm out of the sling, worked his shirt off and slid into the water, still wearing his jeans. Loving the feeling of weightlessness and allowing the water to support his still healing broken bone, he floated to the middle of the pool, arms and legs relaxed, looking up at the tall palm trees arcing overhead.

He wasn't sure how long he floated here, just drifting back and forth, watching the shadows and reflected shimmer from the pool lights up on the ceiling. He knew he'd been there a while, long enough that he could feel himself drifting off to sleep suspended there in the warm water.

"Dick."

"Um?" He didn't even bother to open his eyes.

"Dick." A little more forceful this time. He turned his head towards the sound. Bruce was standing by the edge of the pool and he looked concerned. "It's almost midnight. Are you all right?"

He lazily kicked his way to the shallow end where he could walk out on the steps instead of pulling himself up one handed on the ladder. He stood up, the water up to his waist, pouring down his back and chest, dripping from his hair. His arm held close to his body. "I'm fine." Slowly, carefully, he made his way up the tiled steps to where Bruce was waiting with a towel. Silently, he hung it around Dick's shoulders and handed him the sling to support his still sore injury.

"What were you doing?" In the pool, in your clothes at midnight. Bruce didn't say the last, but he didn't have to and he tried not to stare at the bruising from Dick's injuries and the subsequent surgery. Still there, fading by clearly visible. No wonder the boy was still in a sling.

"Thinking." Bruce looked at him oddly. Well, what the hell, no time like the present and God knew when Bruce would deign to actually be in the same room with him again. Time to seize the moment.

"I'm sorry you were so angry at the Highlands, I know I screwed up."

Bruce looked confused and almost blinked in a cliché reaction. "I don't understand."

"I screwed up. I made a mistake—I'm sorry I made you angry."

"Dick—I wasn't angry, I was worried. You were hurt and you were in pain, I was worried about you."

Yeah, right. "Well anyway, I'm sorry."

Bruce waved his hand in dismissal. "I was thinking that we should pin Leslie down on when you can start working out again, start getting you back in shape."

Dick just looked at him.

"You know, Batman and Robin—we work together?"

Bruce made a joke. Damn, Bruce made a joke. "But after—I mean I thought that…I thought that you didn't want to, you know…"

Bruce gave him a hard look, something he was good. "Sit down, what's been on your mind lately? Clear the air." And Leslie had told Bruce that if he didn't talk to the boy there would be hell to pay, something Alfred had seconded.

Dick sat on the stone bench then took a breath, eyes on the puddles of water around his feet. He took another breath and looked at Bruce, sitting on the end of one of the lounge chairs, five of six feet away. He tried to steel himself. Christ, he'd faced down and bested the worst criminals on the planet, he'd witnessed death and destruction almost beyond comprehension, he counted most of the Justice League as friends and he was stumbling over a few sentences. C'mon, he was the glib one, the one who always had something to say—spit it out.

"I think I don't always live up to your standards, okay? I think you're disappointed a lot of the time in me and…it makes me feel like crap to know I've let you down."

Of all the feelings Bruce had for Dick, disappointment had never figured into the mix—never, and if Dick had announced that he'd decided to turn to the dark side of the force, he couldn't have been any more surprised.

"…Uh, no."

His voice subdued, Dick went on. "C'mon, Bruce, I saw the look on you face at the hospital in Aspen and when I missed that pass on the Horn. You were really mad."

"I was upset that you were hurt, Dick—I wasn't angry. I was worried about you."

Dick breathed out a snort of disbelief. "Right, and so when you gave me that lecture about how all these people are counting on me, about how if I get hurt I mess up you and the Titans and probably daylight savings time, you were just worried about me? Sure you were."

"Good Lord, you must know how proud I am of you, I couldn't be more pleased with the work you've been doing and…"

"And that's why you haven't given me the time of day in a month. I'm not stupid, you know."

Bruce looked closely at Dick, angry, hurt and pretending the tears welling up were pool water that had dripped from his hair.

"When you were in the hospital the first time and I'd heard you'd been unconscious for over half an hour I was frightened. Dick—I didn't know how serious it was, if you had a spinal cord injury or brain damage. You could have been in a coma—I was scared." He paused for a second to gather his thoughts. "I may have seemed angry but that wasn't it, not at all. And then up on the mountain, you're right. I was mad then, I was furious at myself. I was kicking myself because I'd let you go out on a hill that size after you'd been hurt when I knew better. I was angry with myself for letting you be in a position like that. Hell's bells, Dick—I'm supposed to be the adult, your guardian and I'd made a mess of it because I couldn't bear to see you moping around the chalet bored. If anything, it was my fault, not yours."

Yeah, sure. Right. Dick didn't say anything, just mentally went to ground, thinking he was being hosed.

"How long have you felt like this, Dick?" It was asked quietly, just a question, not in any way a challenge.

"A while. I don't know, just—a while." He shifted on the hard bench, causing more water to drip to the floor, adding to the puddle that was already there. "Nothing I do is ever good enough, even when I got that gig with Burton you were pissed because I might be recognized or it might take too much time. You think I don't know that the only reason you gave in on that was because Alfred leaned on you? I heard you two talking in the study. You're still not happy about that."

"Now, Dick, you know my reasons for that and you know they're valid."

Dick went on as is Bruce hadn't sad a word. "And my grades; hell, I've never been off the honor roll but you see an A- and you want to know what happened. I lead the Titans and you complain because it's taking too much time. No matter what I do, it doesn't cut it."

"You have to know how proud I am of you, you have to. Your grades are terrific and you know as well as I do—as well as the entire Justice League knows, that you're the only possible person who could lead the Titans."

Dick didn't say anything.

"And the way you balance everything amazes me—when I was your age it was all I could do to keep my grades up and train at the same time. I didn't have the complications of the social life I have to ask of you or a group of peers looking up to me for instructions in life threatening situations. And I didn't have to keep secrets from people; I wasn't Batman yet. You're doing all of this while leading a double life ad you still keep everything in perspective. I couldn't have done everything you're doing when I was sixteen or seventeen."

Dick sat up a little straighter and looked at Bruce. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

"You were afraid—is that the truth or are you bullshitting me?"

"Alfred saw me, you can ask him. If I don't say anything it's because I've gotten so used to you being the most competent person I know. I guess I sort of take it for granted." He stopped and took a breath. "God, all right, I know I do." He glanced over at Dick, staring at him in some disbelief. "I'll try to work on that."

"Yeah?'

"Yes."

"Can I call you on it if you screw it up?" Dick had a half smile on his face. This could be good.

"…Within reason. And only in private—none of this in front of the Justice League or anything like that. No interviews to make announcements."

"So…you think I'm okay as Robin?"

"You're amazing as Robin."

"And my grades and the Titans and boarding for Burton—you're okay with all of that?"

"I'm more than fine with it all—so long as you can handle it."

"But you're all right with my being in what you consider danger? You're not going to pull anything stupid, are you?"

Bruce gave Dick a steady look, close to a Bat look while still maintaining being Bruce. "I know you're intelligent. I know that you're well trained and take what we do seriously. I know that you're mature and level-headed and that I can count on you to make good choices and decisions."

"But…?"

"But you have to understand that if you're ever seriously hurt crime fighting, I'll pull Robin out from under you."

"…What? Why?" Dick looked stunned, like this was the last thing in the world he ever thought he'd hear.

"Because I can take your hating me, but I couldn't stand to lose you."

"Bruce…"

"Believe me on this."

7/6/05

8


End file.
